


Walking in the Air

by Khione_North



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Aether Play (Final Fantasy XIV), And Ginger, And Lumi, Awkward Flirting, Because Magic?, Biting, Blindfolds, Breeding, Come Inflation, Come Swallowing, Contraceptives are in use, Creampie, Dancing, Deepthroating, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, Hair-pulling, Hi and welcome to the clown car, Hot Chocolate, I also blame Quinn, I'll add tags later, Impregnation, Improvised Sex Toys, Innuendo, Light Dom/sub, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Pining, No Refractory Period, No betas we die like Ascians, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink, Romance, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Size Kink, Slow Dancing, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Voice Kink, but not really, fashion porn, safe sex is good sex, waves hands vaguely, will write for coffee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 10:15:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27849222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khione_North/pseuds/Khione_North
Summary: Stars, tiny pinpricks of multicoloured light set against a swath of inky midnight velvet, twinkle overhead, silent sentinels holding their vigil, their ancient watch, over the Crystarium.  For the first time in over a century, it is cold.  Snow blankets Lakeland, wiping the slate clean.  Everything is still and new and beautiful.Fitting, the Crystal Exarch thinks, considering the fact that the woman who has brought this magnificence back to them, might as well be a queen of winter incarnate, a woman born of stars and snow, and forged in fire and blood.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 30
Kudos: 76





	1. Chapter 1

_Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,  
Enwrought with golden and silver light,  
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths  
Of night and light and the half-light,  
I would spread the cloths under your feet:  
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;  
I have spread my dreams under your feet;  
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams._

_W.B. Yeats_

* * *

Stars, tiny pinpricks of multicoloured light set against a swath of inky midnight velvet, twinkle overhead, silent sentinels holding their vigil, their ancient watch, over the Crystarium. For the first time in over a century, it is  _ cold _ . Snow blankets Lakeland, wiping the slate clean. Everything is still and new and beautiful.

Fitting, the Crystal Exarch thinks, considering the fact that the woman who has brought this magnificence back to them, might as well be a queen of winter incarnate, a woman born of stars and snow, and forged in fire and blood. 

After hearing of the Starlight celebrations from her mysterious native land, coupled with the first snow in a full hundred years, the people of the Crystarium have come together to turn their city into a winter wonderland more beautiful than anything the Exarch has ever seen — well, besides the Warrior of Light herself. Despite the constant struggles against sin eaters and basic survival on this Light-blasted shard, the people of this city have spent the past week since the Skywatcher had predicted snow, bustling about, stringing lights and decorations based on Khione’s stories of her favourite holiday. 

The crowning jewel of the whole affair, however, is to be Khione herself, whom the kind merchants of the Musica Universalis have turned into a being of pure frost and starlight (apparently, but he has yet to lay eyes on her), to be escorted to the grand party and lighting of the Crystarium’s central courtyard by the Crystal Exarch himself.

He’s spent much of his day pacing around an empty room at the Pendants — Feo Ul, the Master of Ceremonies for the evening, insisted that Khione get ready in the Tower in order to facilitate a dramatic entrance through the Dossal Gate on the Exarch’s arm. As such, the mischievous Fae King has shooed the Exarch from the Tower until just before said entrance is to be made — and preparing himself for the night ahead. 

Cowl in place and glamoured? Yes. Staff? Strapped across his back. Robes neat and tidy? Yes, and the Exarch is thankful for the custom-made formal robes he’s been provided for the occasion; modifications on his usual attire, featuring skin tight long sleeves beneath the flowing drapery of his robes, a longer hem of snowy white featuring intricate golden embroidery in ancient Allagan patterns along the bottom, and formal, close toed shoes.

He stands just inside the doors of the Crystal Tower, doing his best not to fidget nervously as he waits. Tranquility is an illusion painted by many,  _ many _ years of practice and the serenity of the rushing waters on either side of the great doors. What if she resents being made the Exarch’s trophy for the evening? What if he says something that insults her, or worse, that reveals the intricate web of lies he’s had to spin and will have to continue to spin for her?  _ What if he forgets how to dance? _ The Exarch begins to wonder if perhaps it’s not too late to bow out and simply watch the festivities from the safety of the Ocular, where he can view the Warrior and pretend that she’s smiling just for him rather than for some faceless, nameless other ma—

“I hope you haven’t been waiting too terribly long?”

G’raha Tia— the Crystal Exarch turns, and forgets, for the fleetingest of moments, how to breathe.

Khione is a goddess spun from the very cloths of the wintry heavens, an ethereal creature wrapped in silks and gossamers, and  _ oh Twelve _ , he wonders what it might be like to unwrap her like a Starlight present, even as he takes in the full sight of the Warrior of Light.

The Exarch’s hooded gaze sweeps up from the grand, full skirt of the ink blue ballgown, following the patterns of sparkling stars that travel up from the hem to gather in a brilliant snowflake design at the waist, stretching up the bodice to end beneath  _ generous _ breasts — oh, how he hates himself for such thoughts. The neckline points upwards in a strapless, curving peak to point at the hollow of her throat  _ ever so invitingly _ ; and, for the first time since he’s known her, Khione wears the entirety of her shoulders and collarbones bare, save for a delicate, glittering diamond choker so dainty that it looks almost like a loose thread about the pale column of her throat, while a thicker strand of diamonds trails down her back. A line of similar diamonds dance along the cuffs of each ear, echoed by twinkling stars in her midnight locks pulled half-back. Elbow-length gloves of the same ink blue silk do a poor job of protecting her lower arms from the cold, but then again, it’s incredible that she hasn’t already begun to develop hypothermia in this less-than seasonably appropriate gown.

It isn’t until Khione clears her throat that G’raha Tia realises that he’s staring, and he’s beyond thankful that she can’t see beneath his hood at the way he’s blushing, or how his ears flicker in interest. He takes a deep breath in — a mistake, really, because he ends up inhaling her rose and blackcurrant scent until it intoxicates him and addles his already-waning self control — and composes himself, plastering the friendly, confident, if a little mischievous, smile of the Crystal Exarch on his lips.

“You look absolutely stunning, my dear friend,” he forces himself to say as he offers her his arm.  _ Please let me prostrate myself at your feet and atone for my sins against you; let me adore you and worship you and  _ **_love you_ ** _ with my heart and soul and body _ , is what he truly wishes to say. The way Khione blushes beneath the light dusting of makeup applied to her face only serves to weaken the Exarch’s resolve. Truly, he is being tested, and he is already beginning to fail.

Khione takes the Exarch’s arm with a genuinely bashful smile, ducking her head to hide the worst of her reddened cheeks. Beneath the layers of his robes, she feels the shifting of Spoken muscles, lean, like an archer’s. Without thinking, she shifts slightly closer, trying her best not to fidget as they wait for the doors to open upon the festivities.

“It’s been so long since I got to properly celebrate Starlight,” she muses, turning to look up at the Exarch from beneath lengthened lashes, “so thank you for agreeing to be my date tonight. I’m sure there are plenty of others you’d rather be escorting.”

The way he tenses beneath her touch and the weight of her words doesn’t go unnoticed, and Khione suddenly wonders if perhaps she’s spoken out of turn. Just as the Exarch opens his mouth to respond, however, the doors of the Dossal Gate open, and Lyna pushes the two of them out into the Exedra.


	2. Chapter 2

Dancing with her feels like dancing with a starshower given form, glimmering wishes made into reality that the Exarch can hold in his own two hands, a dream living and breathing in his arms. Her laughter, high and reedy and somewhere between a hyena’s shriek and a witch’s cackle, is lovelier than any music he’s ever heard, and the longer he spends breathing in her scent, the more he drowns in want for her, soul, heart, mind, and body.

All of his worries melt away like marshmallows in the hot cocoa Khione is so fond of, anxiety slowly giving way to light, frothy  _ joy _ . But her words echo in him.  _ “It’s been so long since I got to properly celebrate Starlight, so thank you for agreeing to be my date tonight. I’m sure there are plenty of others you’d rather be escorting.” _ If only this Warrior, this woman, this howling gale of a goddess, knew just how wrong she is. If only she knew that, though he feels he has no right to do so, the Exarch cries out  _ her _ name on lonely evenings when he takes himself in hand and goes through the motions of seeing to his body’s basest needs. If only she knew how he thinks of her in quiet moments, dreams about what it might be like to spend an evening by a roaring fire, reading in comfortable silence while they sit curled up in each other’s arms; about mornings spent discussing the day ahead over coffee and biscuits; about a  _ life with her _ .

“Is aught amiss?” Khione asks, breaking the Exarch from his thoughts. Her gentle smile, painted deep crimson, sets the Exarch’s heart fluttering in his half-Spoken chest. He twirls her away from him in time with the music, grateful for a few seconds to compose himself before he pulls her back into his arms. It suddenly strikes him how close their bodies are — the voluminous skirts of Khione’s gown notwithstanding — and how natural it feels. 

Shadowed scarlet eyes dip to those inviting lips for a lingering second, then move up to meet pools of starry moonlight silver flecked with bits of gold and bronze around the pupils. The Exarch echoes Khione’s smile, the expression genuine; it’s hard not to truly smile when one is slow dancing with the woman you’ve loved for centuries.

“Not at all, my dear friend,” he chuckles. The crystal hand resting on Khione’s waist tightens slightly, little more than an unconscious action that could almost be missed. “I’ll admit that I keep getting distracted by how stunning you look this evening.”

Light, casual words; pleasantries gifted from the lord of the Crystarium to his date. Friendly. Formal. Not nearly adequate to convey what he’s truly feeling.

“Khione,” the sorceress suddenly blurts, smirking. 

“Huh?” The Exarch feels bewildered and lost, and his ears flicker nervously beneath his hood.

“I’d like you to call me Khione,” she clarifies with a giggle. “None of this ‘my dear friend,’ or ‘dear Warrior’ stuff. It’s too formal, and from what little I can see, you’re far too handsome to be so... _ proper _ .” The Exarch doesn’t fail to notice the new edge shimmering in those strange, liquid silver eyes, or lining the suggestive twitch of her mouth into a sharper smirk. “I think a drink or two, and some food, is in order once this song is over. I’m beginning to feel a little  _ peckish _ and  _ cold _ .”

The Exarch allows himself to play dumb as the song ends, and they bow and curtsey to one another. 

“Handsome, you say?” he muses, offering her his Spoken arm to lead her from the centre of the Exedra towards the stairs to the Catenaries. They walk slowly, partially due to the ridiculousness of the frothy skirts of Khione’s gown, partially due to the Exarch’s own desire to savour this evening and this company, and partially due to the fact that someone stops them to chat every few fulms, to wish them well, to inquire after casual city affairs, and once or twice to make suggestive, teasing comments about the two of them.

By the time they reach a quiet table tucked in the back of the catwalk overlooking the festivities below, the Exarch worries that he and Khione both might spontaneously combust from the aforementioned teases, and yet, neither of them make any indication of an inclination to move away from one another. If anything, the buzzing presence of Khione’s proximity, and the embrace of her scent and the chill of her pale skin, grows stronger, even as they sit — side by side, chairs pushed so closely together that they form a single seat. Without thinking, the Exarch drapes his Spoken arm across the Frost Witch’s bare shoulders, pulling her even closer until Khione risks ending up in his lap if she scoots any further.

Much to the Exarch’s surprise, rather than moving away and being awkward, Khione visibly  _ relaxes _ against his side when she realises the current situation. Spurred on by such encouraging signals, he, too, relaxes and gives her shoulders a small squeeze, letting his fingertips trail lightly up and down Khione’s scar-flecked arm. When she shivers, and he turns to find her looking decidedly  _ cold _ , the Exarch chuckles, deftly unclasping the red and white portions of his curtain-like robes to wrap around Khione.

An attendant brings over a tray with bowls of warm white bean chicken chili, and a silver pot of slightly spiced hot cocoa along with two matching cups. The Exarch and the Witch accept the offerings gladly. The chili is savoury and comforting — back when he was still a young man itching for adventure and something beyond tribal life, his mother had often cooked this same dish using fresh coriander and chipotle peppers — while the cocoa carries a surprising  _ kick _ that tickles the back of the throat and warms the body pleasantly. For a while, the two are silent as they eat, and the Exarch wonders if he’s not perhaps dreaming this up.

Once the hot cocoa is finished, the attendant clears the cups and pot, and brings a new pot — this time filled with spice-mulled wine (which the attendant assures them is decidedly light on the alcohol, per Lyna’s instructions). The Exarch tries not to let his exasperation with his young charge and her constant fussing show too much. Still, though, he’s secretly grateful. After what happened the last time he imbibed a little too much alcohol…. Well, he’s not wont to repeat that experience.

“I remember the first time I had mulled wine,” Khione giggles, sipping from her mug. She nestles herself against the Exarch’s side in a way that makes his poor, mortal heart dance a jig in his chest, especially when she tugs his robes tighter around herself and buries her nose in the fabric. “I had just turned fourteen, and we were celebrating Starlight with my father's family. My grandmama gave me half a mug to try, then a full mug, then a second, and a third, and then I proceeded to inform my very prim and proper Great Aunt Celestine that the ridiculous new dress she was wearing reminded me of the love child of a gaelicat and a poodle, and not in a nice way. I immediately then ran out and decided to dive into the lake...even though I couldn’t swim.” She laughs at herself, and the Exarch can’t help but join her, hugging her closer with the brush of the ghost of a kiss to her hairline.

“That sounds like quite the adventure, Khione,” he chuckles. 

“It was. That was our last Starlight before the Calamity…. None of them survived, since the Eastern Highlands were covered in a glacier.” A sad smile, one that has the Exarch itching to draw Khione into his lap, to cradle her to his chest, to kiss away the bittersweet light that dims her eyes. He’s relieved when she brightens again after a few moments. “But they’d want me to enjoy tonight. They used to say that I was born to be the Queen of Starlight, since my name day is the Winter Solstice. My aunt and uncle always helped my parents make the entire moon special for me, so I think they’d be glad that I’ve found someone to spend this evening with.”

His heart does that fluttering thing again, and his crystalline hand moves of its own accord to hook a finger under Khione’s chin, to tilt her face up to his, to draw her into the shadow of his hood to slant his lips over hers. She tastes of chili and mulled wine and spicy hot cocoa, but also of snow and mint, of steel and magic, of all things bright and starry and beautiful.

When they part, he graces her with a shy, pleasant smile. “Forgive my forwardness, but—”

“You don’t need to apologise, Exarch. I enjoyed it.” And that’s that. She snuggles back into his side, as though nothing happened, as though the world didn’t just turn on its head and narrow into a needle’s eye of focus. The Exarch finds himself stunned into silence.

The Exarch smells  _ nice _ . Khione’s noticed this before, and even once made a passing comment about it to Y’shtola, but tonight, spending so much time being this close to him, the Ishgardian sorceress notices it that much more. Tea tree, sandalwood, the ozone of magic, a hint of patchouli, and old leather books come together to create a unique bouquet of scents that feels  _ so achingly familiar _ , and yet Khione can’t quite put her finger on it. Tonight, though, she decides to leave the matter, to focus on  **enjoying** these quiet moments. With Lightwardens still to vanquish, and Eulmore increasingly breathing down her neck, such chances for peaceful respite and time to get to know the Exarch are few and far between.

“You never told me you could dance,” Khione hums, hoping to draw her companion into deeper conversation than their usual surface-level small talk. They’ve had deeper discussions before, laced with vivid levin and desire and an intimacy beyond friends, lovers, sexual partners, or any other dynamic she’s ever encountered; Khione wants to see if she can entice him into such a discussion now, her own desire for a deeper connection, coupled with pure curiosity, driving her. 

He turns his head to look down at Khione, and only a century of playing the role of the unflappable Crystal Exarch keeps G’raha Tia from jumping out of his gods-damned skin when he realises how close their faces are. Her lips are curled into a curious, inviting smile that sends his mind reeling and racing down fifty different paths. It is a true effort of will to pull himself away slightly, to put some distance between them, lest he cross a line that he’s not sure she wants him to cross.

“You never asked,” he replies, his voice mischievous and playful as he sips from his mug of mulled wine. “Perhaps you need to learn to ask the right questions if you wish to know such things,  _ Khione _ .”

He doesn’t know if it’s the tiny touch of alcohol in the wine, or the way her scent thoroughly destroys his sense of boundaries and filter, or if it’s simply the fact that he’s been dreaming of being this close to her, of rekindling the spark of banter that existed between them all those centuries ago, for, well, centuries; whatever the case, the Exarch decides to play along, to allow himself to be reeled into this game of hers. He can see by the glint in her eyes that he’s struck the right tone, and something in his chest flutters hopefully.

“Well,  _ Exarch _ ,” Khione purrs, standing, “I’m rather in a mood for more  _ dancing _ . Care to join me?” 

With her back to the glittering lights of the Starlight Market around and below them, she looks to be crowned by the stars themselves, the diamond combs and tiny clips in her hair catching like a thousand starbursts, and the Exarch doesn’t have to pretend to be sitting back to take in the view — he genuinely needs a moment to simply  _ admire _ , to revel in the presence of his goddess before he sets down his empty mug to join her, staff discarded on the table. 

This time, when they dance, there’s something different, something  **_alive_ ** that crackles like frost and levin between them. This time, the Exarch forgets to hold Khione at a respectable distance. This time, his crystal hand rests low on the sorceress’s waist, grip firmer and possessive. This time, he allows himself to breathe her in, to lower his head so that their lips hover less than an ilm apart while they sway to the gentle music, high above the people of the Crystarium. His Spoken fingers lace with hers, and he curses whoever decided to give her these Twelve-damned gloves because he would much rather feel the skin of her hand than the finest silk this world has to offer. The mere thought of her wearing even a portion of his clothing near drives him to madness; the knowledge that she’s covered in  _ his  _ scent has him pulling her flush against him, a purring growl rumbling unbidden through him that he cannot help.

“Lucky for you, Little Bird,” G’raha Tia hums, “I’m more than happy to  _ dance _ with you  _ all evening _ , if that’s what you so wish.” He leans in, brushing his lips brazenly along the shell of her ear, letting each diamond stud fog over with warm, even breaths, before he whispers, the Crystal Exarch’s calm, collected confidence combined with G’raha Tia’s unyielding  **_love_ ** for this ethereal queen of nighttime and starlight. “But perhaps it might be best if we take this somewhere private. If I’m to show you the breadth of my  _ dancing _ abilities, I’d rather not have an audience.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oops. My hand slipped.
> 
> Aka author is trash and only writes the same five smut tropes. You'll read it and you'll like it.

If their first kiss was as soft and gentle as the shadows between stars, their second kiss is a supernova exploding into a thousand million particles of shimmering dust, hidden in a shadowed alcove of the Cabinet of Curiosities like a pair of fumbling kits discovering each other for the first time.

Lean muscled arms, one Spoken and one crystalline, cage the Frost Witch against a bookcase with fingers entwined, while the Lord of the Crystarium kisses, nips, and licks his way down from nibbled earlobe, along the sharp line of her jaw, a special visit to those teasing lips that he’s dreamt about in all manners for  _ centuries _ and finally tasted over bowls of chili and mugs of spiced wine. From there, he continues his path down her snow-pale throat, teeth grazing over the flow of precious life’s essence, wondering if she’ll let him mark her as  _ his _ .

For a woman so brilliant, so bold, so beautiful, G’raha is baffled by how easily Khione melts beneath his touches. His hands release hers to wander along her sides, to ghost over silk-guarded breasts, to explore until he finds the laces of her gown. With a wicked smirk, G’raha begins to tug on them….

…. Only to be stopped when the doors to the Cabinet open and footsteps echo through the grand library. Hissing, Khione  _ dives _ towards a table, scrambling into a seat and grabbing a book at random. G’raha, however, has other ideas.

Rather than sitting across from her or beside her, he ducks beneath the table, and crawls beneath her cloud of skirts and petticoats. The scent of her arousal is thick, and it doesn’t take him long to realise that Khione is already  _ soaked _ . 

Khione tries to focus on the book she’s grabbed. Normally, she’d actually be incredibly interested in reading about the history of the Fae and their magic, but right now, she’s maybe just a little more than preoccupied with the fact that the Crystal Exarch just pulled down her panties and licked a long stripe up her centre. The situation is made worse by Moren’s sudden appearance.

“Oh! Mistress Khione,” the librarian chirps, giving the Warrior a bright smile, “I didn’t realise you were here. Tired of the festivities already?”

Khione opens her mouth to answer with a practiced, polite smile, but quickly clamps it shut when the Exarch inserts a crystalline finger into her slit and begins to lavish her clit with attention from his tongue. It takes her a few moments to compose herself and regain control over the pleasure that courses through her.

“I, ah, needed a small break,” she titters, hoping that her body language makes it clear that she’s not interested in an extended conversation. “So many people trying to converse with you gets a little overwhelming at times, especially when all you want to do is enjoy your hot cocoa and a dance or two.”

Moren chuckles with an empathetic nod. “Yes, I can imagine that might get somewhat tedious…. Though, I thought the Crystal Exarch was accompanying you this evening?”

Below the table and the wall of Khione’s skirts, the Exarch sets to work in earnest, sucking on her clit, and gently crooking his finger as he slowly draws it out. Khione begins to find it increasingly more difficult to focus, but years of being the ever-stoic Warrior of Light have trained patience and composure into her.

“He is, yes, but I told him I needed a quarter of a bell to myself.” She holds up her book for emphasis, wearing a polite, clipped smile. Her knee jerks of its own accord when the Exarch below her slides in a second, thick, crystalline finger, and both digits brush against her g-spot. She hisses at the resulting  _ bang! _ against the underside of the table, the pain, although dulled by her voluminous skirts, that lances through her knee. Moren looks utterly bewildered and more than a little concerned.

“Is aught amiss? Should I go get him?”

Khione shakes her head. “I-I’m quite alright. It’s a little drafty in here, but there’s no need to go interrupt the Crystal Exarch over that.” She fists her skirt, every brush of the Exarch’s fingers inside of her, and the skilled ministrations of his tongue and teeth on her clit, unravelling her control that much more, and she wonders how much longer she can hold out. “If I’m being perfectly honest, I think I’d just like to enjoy some silence and solitude for a few more minutes before I return to the festivities.” She draws blood from the inside of her cheek with one of her canines when the Exarch’s tongue joins his fingers in her slit, and fireworks burst in the edges of her vision. Outwardly, though, she maintains her awkward, polite smile.

Moren nods slowly, still watching her with concern, but blessedly turns and begins to walk away. “Do let me know if you require company. Otherwise, I’ll leave you to your book.”

She waits until the sound of the librarian’s study doors closing echoes through the Cabinet, and only then does she relax — relatively speaking. Gods, between the thrill of having  _ the Crystal Exarch _ on his hands and knees and eating her out, the thrill of this taking place where anyone could catch them — and indeed, they truly had nearly been caught — and the pleasure of such attentions, Khione can feel her orgasm building  _ fast _ . 

And then, it just stops. She has to bite down on her hand to muffle her whimper when that tongue and those fingers pull out, leaving her empty and clenching around nothi—

The thought doesn’t even finish before  _ something _ fills her and brushes against her clit. The Exarch resurfaces, making a show of licking her juices from his fingers with a dominant, satisfied, purely  _ male _ smirk. 

“I hope you enjoyed that,  _ Little Bird _ ,” he rumbles, leaning down to brush his lips against her ear. “Because that’s just a  **taste** of how thoroughly I intend to ravish you, if you’ll allow me.”

Khione, stunned into temporary silence by the sight of crystal fingers disappearing between sensual lips, and then the brush of a whisper against her ear — one of her more sensitive spots, admittedly — nods. The thing inside of her — a plug, she deduces — hums with aether that maintains the steady arousal within her and along her clit, but never quite pushes her over the edge.

The Exarch, as though he’s read her mind, gestures down to Khione’s lap, the movement casual and innocent. “I’ve decided I’d like one more dance before we retire for the evening,” he hums. “But I also want to see how good you are at following orders.” The intensity of the plug increases ever so slightly, and Khione twitches at the sensation, earning her another smirk. “I’m going to keep that plug in you until I’ve decided that you’ve earned my cock. In the meantime, you’re not allowed to orgasm. Furthermore, you’re not allowed to do anything to indicate to anyone that something is amiss. If you come before I say you can, I’ll have to punish you accordingly. Is that clear,  _ Kiki _ ?”

Khione bristles at the use of the diminutive, but the firm press of the Exarch’s lips to the spot behind her ear melts all indignation and turns her into a puddle of acquiescence. “Y-yes,” she sighs.

“Good girl.” The Exarch extends a hand to help her up, and Khione fears her legs might give out due to the way the plug brushes all the right spots with its humming aether. “Come, let us rejoin the party.”

Thankfully, Moren is nowhere to be seen, and so the pair sneak out of the Cabinet. Khione feels her heart skip a beat or two every few steps, pressure building in her core at the constant attention of the damn aether plug on her most sensitive parts.

The Exarch leads her back to the centre of the Exedra, his posture prim and proper and respectable. Oh, if only the people of the Crystarium knew how their lord was torturing the Warrior of Darkness.

The humming aether inside her intensifies more as the music begins, and Khione forces herself to think about anything  _ other _ than the warmth of every point of contact between herself and her companion, the intoxicating scent of him, the promise of  _ more _ to come. Cold showers, Thancred’s sweaty socks, helping Y’shtola catalogue books about gruesome injuries and how to heal them, Urianger being, well, Urianger…. It works, for a time, until the Exarch leans down to nibble at her earlobe from inside the shadow of his hood — it’s loud enough around them that he simply appears to be trying to converse with his dance partner.

“You’re being so good, Little Star,” he purrs. He traces the shell of her ear with the tip of his tongue, and it sends a new wave of heady arousal through Khione. The aether plug lessens for a moment, allowing Khione to inhale deeply, but then it intensifies again, and  _ more _ . Cruel, wicked Exarch. Her control is rapidly waning. Manicured nails dig into the Exarch’s shoulder through the fabric of his black robe, into the back of his Spoken hand holding hers. “You want to come now, don’t you? Poor little Warrior of Darkness. You’re so tense, so ready to be taken by the Lord of the Crystarium. Just a little longer, my dear. Think you can hold out that long?”

Khione whimpers, but nods in response. This only earns her a deep growl.

“Use your words.”

“Y-yes,” she huffs. “I can hold out.”

The Exarch twirls her gently, and the plug intensifies even more, leaving Khione feeling like she’s just had the wind knocked out of her.

Just when she thinks she can’t handle any more, the song ends, and the Exarch leads her toward the Pendants. 

“Oh, the things I wish to do to you,” he chuckles. With the manager of the suites out enjoying the festivities, there’s no one to watch the Exarch lead the Warrior of Darkness to her suite. The door closes and locks with a  _ click _ . He wastes no time in undressing her, discarding her frothy gown and her shoes in a corner to be forgotten for the rest of the night.

“On your knees,” the Exarch commands. “And close your eyes while I find a suitable blindfold.”

Khione frowns, but, desperate as she is, complies. It’s not long before a band of silk is tied to cover her eyes, followed by the rustling of the Exarch undressing. She knew he would wish to keep his identity secret, and strangely, she finds herself rather alright with that. They all have their mysteries, herself included.

Soft footsteps approach where she kneels by the bed; strong arms guide her hands to rest at the tops of surprisingly Spoken thighs, before one hand gently fists itself in her hair, pulling carefully-pinned sections enough to make her eyes water slightly. It only adds to the overwhelming arousal, the plug still vibrating within her, aether brushing at her clit. Something warm and hard and leaking pokes at her lips, and she willingly opens them.

The Exarch is  _ thick _ . Not only that, but he’s also a little on the longer side. He fills her mouth with his cock, stopping only when he’s deepthroating her. Gods, if this is what he feels like in her mouth, he’s going to absolutely  **wreck her** when he fills her cunt.

He tastes of salt and musk, hints of something sweet, and his base is surrounded by a small forest of downy, curly hair that tickles Khione’s nose slightly.

“I’m going to start now,” he says from above her. “If you need to stop at any point, tap my leg three times.”

Her silence is the best confirmation she can give, and so the Exarch begins to pull out, using midnight curls as leverage. He groans as he pushes back in, his grip on her hair tightening. “By the Twelve, you are truly heavenly already,” he murmurs.

One hand still braced on the Exarch’s thigh, Khione reaches up with the other to fondle the heavy sacs below his shaft, laving her tongue around his tip every time he pulls out. They find a rhythm, both becoming a duet of small grunts and noises. Khione teeters on the edge of orgasm, fighting desperately against it, trying to focus on drawing more beautiful sounds from the normally-stoic Exarch. Halone strike her, his voice alone would be enough to coax her release from her. How many times has she touched herself or filled her needy hole with toys, imagining him standing over her, directing her every movement with that voice like sex incarante? Granted, she’s been dreaming of that for years, ever since the summer spent exploring the Crystal Tower with him. She never intended for their first time to be spent like this. For starters, she’s always imagined that he’d have revealed himself to her by this point, rather than maintaining the facade of the Exarch. Of course, he doesn’t know that she knows, and she’s not wont to push tha—

G’raha stills above her, thrusting hard into her throat before his cock twitches and he empties himself with a long, growling moan. Khione thinks his release tastes like the finest wine, the nectar of the gods themselves, five years of love and grief and pining finally beginning to right themselves. She swallows all of it that she can, intoxicated and frenzied with  **need** . She is only barely holding off her orgasm at this point, overstimulated by the plug and the taste of him.

“Very good,” he pants, removing himself to scoop her up. The crystal of his arm is surprisingly warm, as is the crystal that she can feel covering part of his chest. She wishes she could see for herself the handsome features she’s so dearly missed, but now is not the time. Not when he seems so at peace. Furthermore, the bridge between foreplay and sex probably isn’t a wonderful opoortunity for a heart to heart.

“Good enough to earn your cock?” she murmurs, sticking out her lower lip. “Good enough for you to fill me with your seed, to plant your heirs in my womb?”

G’raha growls, low and deep and hungry, and he bends to steal her lips in a bruising kiss. “Good  _ and _ clever,” he chuckles. “Is that what you want? To become  **mine** forevermore? To warm my bed and my cock? To bear my children and help me repopulate this shard?” Another dark chuckle. “I’ll keep you pregnant, Little Bird, round as the full moon. Does that sound like something you’d like?”

Khione can’t nod enthusiastically enough, her control quickly slipping at the honeyed promise of his voice, the picture he paints in her mind’s eye.   
  


She is placed on the bed with heartbreaking tenderness, resting on her stomach. Another measure taken to avoid the risk of her finding out his identity, but Khione can’t help but also think that it’s rather fitting for this little game of theirs. Bless Spyragics and their heavy-duty contraceptive tonics, though.

“Present yourself to me.” The words are heavy with desire and command and dominance. Khione raises her ass in the air, legs spread to allow him a full view of her weeping slit, the aether plug still firmly in place. “Good girl. You may come once you feel my tongue in your cunt.”

Sensual lips cover her hole, and the plug disappears just as G’raha’s tongue enters her. Pulled taut as it has been all evening, her control snaps almost immediately, and she wails into her pillow while her companion laps up her release.

Strong hands grasp at her hips when she’s finally spent, and G’raha folds himself over her to nose along her neck and shoulder. She turns to kiss him, their individual tastes mingling, shared between them. 

“Look at you, Little Star, so beautiful. Why, I’m already fully hard again, just seeing you like this, all for me. Are you ready to become the Lady of the Crystarium?”

“Y-yes, please,” Khione mewls, wiggling her ass a little. “Make me yours.”

He enters her with a fast, hard thrust, just as his teeth sink into the skin of her shoulder and neck where her blood flows thickest. Her eyes water at the stretch and burn and sting of their congress, and she bucks back against him, desperate for more. G’raha needs no further encouragement.

His hands find her breasts, holding fast as he takes her roughly, passionately, every forceful thrust of his hips singing the unspoken song of a love that has waited centuries for this, of the soul-deep connection that has always existed between them. They say no words, too lost in primal cries and growls, moans and snarls and whimpers. Khione thinks that she never wants to spend another day without G’raha’s cock filling her ever again.

Another orgasm floods her senses, shorts out her brain. “ _ Raha! _ ” she cries as she comes.

This seems to unlock something in the man above her, and he unleashes himself upon her, frantic, until he bites down again and fills her with his come, his love, his everything. “ **_Khione_ ** !” Her name is a prayer and a song.

Together, they collapse on the bed, G’raha still warm within her, his body cradling her from behind. 

“You…. How?” he manages, something like devastation in his voice.

“I’m the Fate Weaver, remember? It would be awfully silly if I couldn’t recognise my own soulmate.”

A gentle hand unties the blindfold. Khione blinks against the relative brightness of the darkened room, glancing down at the hand that returns to splay across her slightly swollen stomach — centuries worth of come, she supposes, might do that to someone as petite as she. Pale, delicate fingers lace with Spoken ones.

“I suppose I should have considered that fact,” G’raha chuckles behind her. 

“We can worry about it in the morning. I believe I was promised a whole night of good, thorough fucking, and if you want me to bear your heirs, you’re going to have to work much harder.”

He grins against the back of her neck, squeezing her gently in a hug.

“It’s good to see you again, Raha.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Shout out to all of the lovely people [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic) for their enthusiastic support and encouragement! Come check it out if you want more awesome FFXIV fic, or are interested in writing FFXIV fic!
> 
> As usual, I blame Nautilus for my insanity. Thanks for dragging me into the Exarch thirst clown car...again. ;)
> 
> If you have any questions, or just wanna talk, feel free to leave a comment or DM me!
> 
> Much love,  
> Blue


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